Asa Loud
by photojourney
Summary: The impermanence of Asa Loud. (Wherein, that is to say, the Curse of the Arcobaleno was never broken.)


**Warnings: **Vindice-centric, AU, ONE-SHOT (COMPLETED)

**Summary: **The impermanence of Asa Loud. (Wherein, that is to say, the Curse of the Arcobaleno was never broken.)

**Notes: **where did this come from? aha no idea, but it wouldn't get out of my head. i'm dubious about how it turned out as a whole, but experimenting with a new writing style was really fun! so this was written to a whole bunch of songs from my early childhood. please enjoy!

* * *

><p>Asa is a strong, sturdy name. It is the calling of an ancient king and an unappreciated Spanish actress. When people test it on their tongues, they think of a young boy with a tough spirit, or a woman with pretty dark hair curled to one side.<p>

Asa chose this name because it was the first one he could think of. One of his very first memories was of a stout, rotund man with a pistol in his hands—aimed so that Asa could see the black hole in the muzzle, where the bullet comes out of. "What are you?" the man had bellowed, but Asa had mistaken it for 'who are you' instead of 'what', and it had taken some time to come up with an answer. "Asa," he'd replied at last, but this did not appease the round man in the slightest.

He'd tried again. "Asa Loud," he said. He liked the way the word started with the letter 'L' and went on from there. It didn't sound quite right in his ears, especially as a last name—but then again, it's quite hard to come up with a perfect reply to anything when one finds themselves put on the spot by a man of extraordinary stature aiming the head of a pistol at your chest.

Indeed, the man didn't seem to like the sound of Asa Loud's last name at all. There were some very loud gunshots and some very loud screaming from the man's pigtailed daughter.

Asa Loud doesn't remember what happened after that.

In truth, his mind is jumbled, and rather like someone took hold of it in a jar and shook thrice before placing it upside-down on a shelf. What a strange thing, the mind is. No other animal ever becomes so aware of their own intangible thought. Ask a bird, "Why do you think the way that you do?" and the bird will fly away, because birds are far too flighty for the concept of self-reflection.

Asa Loud has a few more first memories, but not many. He remembers climbing a tree. He remembers pushing a piece of rubble off his shoulder, because it was hurting him. He remembers seeing a woman and making her cry when he opened his mouth.

Asa Loud doesn't remember anything else.

Asa Loud doesn't even remember that there's _supposed_ to be anything else until he looks into a mirror and sees someone who is not entirely alive.

This is what Asa Loud discovers.

* * *

><p>In truth, the human mind (which Asa Loud ought to know about) is quite fickle. This is not even particular to the species of women. Humanity as a whole is fond of changing its mind, and takes great pride in doing so.<p>

For instance, there is a man and a woman. They are a couple. The woman is irritated by the man, and so will ignore every mention of his presence for a week's worth, until she comes up with a way to justify her reaction and promptly changes her mind to accommodate him once more. The man makes the decision to love the woman, until he sees several more of her kind crossing his path, and changes this decision to accommodate at least two females, or perhaps three. This is a brilliant example of the volatile nature of the mind.

For instance, Asa Loud sits alone on a park swing. He hears the pitter-pattering of feet from behind him, and a tiny, shrill voice that says, "Is something wrong over there, mister?"

"Nothing is wrong," he says.

The voice gasps. "You sound sick!" it cries.

"I am sick," he agrees.

"Is that why you're turning your face away?" it asks. "You don't have to do that, you know."

"Yes, I do," he objects.

"I have a strong immune system," it assures him, with great confidence. "Turn and face me, mister! Turn and face me!"

Asa Loud hadn't wanted to show his face at first, but he became curious about this strong immune system that was mentioned. He turns his face to the child in the blue rain-coat standing next to the swings. She looks at him fully.

With a ringing scream, the child sprints away, the sleeves of her little blue rain-coat swinging behind them. Her footsteps are a thunderous applause. Meanwhile, Asa Loud regrets his decisions.

This is not only yet another brilliant example of the volatile nature of the mind, but also undeniable proof that Asa Loud still owns—in part—the consciousness of just an ordinary human being.

* * *

><p>Here is another truth about human beings. They are made of water and other substances, but they care most about their skin. They are especially fearful of those who have none, such as Asa Loud.<p>

It is painful to live in a body such as Asa Loud's. Try not to imagine this body—it doesn't make for a pleasant image. It is composed of rotting flesh, bone, and very little water. When bandaged, it is a vague white shape with stiff limbs. Such is the husk and vessel in which Asa Loud resides.

No human is naturally born in a diseased, rotting corpse. Rather, they are born small and whole, and with all their skin intact.

Asa Loud doesn't remember his birth. For him, emptiness is as much a constant as the air itself (although physically, it is the air that fills this emptiness).

There is a hole in Asa Loud's memory, and figuratively, a hole in Asa Loud's heart.

The heart is, by far, the most mysterious part of the body (even more so than the world of women). It is an organ which pumps blood. When there is a hole in it, it stops working, but you no longer feel the pain. When there isn't a hole in it, it keeps working, but you feel the pain tenfold.

The heart is the center of the cardiovascular system. People who are heartless are those who break the hearts of others, yet nobody wonders where their hearts ever went, or where you could find one if it was dropped. People with broken hearts claim that there are too many heartless in the world, yet they insist on fixing their own hearts instead of picking up a new one on the floor. The heart is a treasure and a sentiment.

Asa Loud is missing something. He writes words on the walls of the streets in black ball-point pen. The product sentences are always incoherent. The words never match up with each other, and some of the letters are too tall, while the others are too short. The taller letters tower over the smaller ones.

He draws on the pavement of the sidewalk. Pictures of cats and clouds and such. Sometimes people, although their faces rarely turn out the way he expected them to be.

He talks to the air, in case anyone cares to listen. What he says is nonsensical to outsiders, but rest assured that it makes far too much sense inside his head. "It's alright," he says to the night sky. "It's alright, you'll be right. Everyone's right in the end but nobody goes around and around, in those spins—the circles, right? The circles that the cat loves but doesn't lucky on the daisies that we put on your on my it's me see everyone is doing it right. Stupid."

Even if you try your best, it's still very difficult to concentrate the sensation of absolute emptiness into the tip of a person's tongue. That's why it all comes out as nonsense.

* * *

><p>There was one time, when Asa Loud was walking down the street, and a truck came careening around the corner. At the same time, there was a group of kindergarteners in the middle of the crossing. The truck swerved, but it hit two of the children regardless. Asa Loud had watched as those two tiny bodies spiraled into the air and landed on their necks, like felled geese during wildfowling season.<p>

It happens again, at some point (between what would be defined as "a little while after" and "much, much later than then"). Three boys are crossing the street. The driver doesn't look up from his hand.

Asa Loud walks over and plucks the boys out of harm's way. It's a very near sort of thing.

"Thanks," one of them says, upon recovery. "We really owe you one. What's your name, man?"

"Asa Loud," he says.

"I'm Yukari Ryohei."

The boys smile at him and pat his arms lightly. "You must've gotten into a pretty bad accident yourself, huh?" Ryohei says.

Asa Loud isn't listening. "Yukari Ryohei," he says. "Ryohei. Ryo-hei."

"Yeah?"

This name has a nice ring to it.

* * *

><p>There's another time when Asa Loud goes to a port and sees a bird.<p>

"Hey," he says as it draws near.

Startled by the sound of his voice, the bird wheels away. So do the passers-by.

* * *

><p>There are few people in the world as extraordinarily empty as Asa Loud. However, he is not as alone as he once thought. He finds another monstrous man sitting at the back end of an alley, sharpening one edge of a knife with another edge of another knife.<p>

Asa Loud sees him and walks over to him. This other man is also bandaged. His eyes are milky and glassy. "Hey," Asa Loud says.

"Don't 'hey' me," mutters the other man. His knives ping together like wind-chimes.

"Hey," Asa Loud repeats.

The other man looks up from his work. His eyes widen. "Oh," he rasps.

"I'm Asa Loud," Asa Loud says. "Who are you?"

The other man gives him a look of considerable irritation. "Can't you see I'm busy?" he asks.

"With what?" asks Asa Loud.

"I'm sharpening these knives," the other man replies. "Go away."

"Who are you?"

"I said, go away. You fool."

"Hey," he says, becoming indignant. "No need to be rude."

"Don't 'hey me!" shouts the other man, suddenly irate. "You want me to tell you who I am? I'm no-one! No-one and nothing! Can't even remember who I am anymore!"

Asa Loud leans back at this sudden and disturbing development. "You can't remember anything either? So you're like me."

The other man throws down his knives. "I don't want to be like you," he says. "You're annoying. At least you can remember your own name."

"This isn't my real name," says Asa Loud.

"It's not?"

"No."

"Oh." The other man looks mollified. "Then I'm X. It's not my real name, but you'll call me that."

"X," Asa Loud says. "X."

"What?" asks X.

"X isn't a very good name," he admits.

X picks up his knives again and tests them with his fingers. "You're hardly one to talk," he snaps. "X is a good letter. It stands for something powerful. You call yourself Asa Loud. What kind of last name is Loud, anyway? It's a horrible choice. Do you like the sound of that, Mr. Loud?"

"No," Asa Loud admits.

"See?" X cries.

* * *

><p>Out of the blue, X leans over and picks up a black rock off the ground. He dusts it off and inspects it with his nails, despite not having many of them in the first place.<p>

"What's that?" Asa Loud asks.

"A rock," proclaims X, with pride.

"A rock isn't so special," Asa Loud observes.

X pockets the rock. "I like the way that it shines."

"Do you collect shiny things?"

"I do."

"Like knives?"

"Like knives."

"Why's that?"

"Why do you ask so many questions?" grouses X. He points upward. "Do you see that?"

Asa Loud follows his finger. "No," he says. "Unless you mean the sky."

"I do mean the sky, you idiot!" X claps his gnarled hands together. "Everything that shines has at least some value to it. I'm going to sell the sky one day. I mean—" He grinds his teeth together. It's a nasty sight to see. "I'm going to—to buy it! I will buy the sky! I'm going to buy this whole world and we're going to start with that!"

"What's the point?" asks Asa Loud.

"'What's the point'? You keep asking all these stupid questions. Who wouldn't want the world for themselves?"

"I don't," Asa Loud says.

"What? What do you want, then?"

"I'd like my memories back. My name, too, would be nice."

X laughs. "Oh, no," he says. "You won't ever get those back, you know. I've given up hope a long time ago." He points to the sky again. "This, you see, is a much more attainable goal."

Asa Loud decides to ignore X's statements. "I like the name Asa. When I get my name back, I'll give this one to my son, if I ever have one. My son will be named Asa. Although I guess we can just leave out the Loud, since that never sounded right."

"What if you have a daughter?" X asks as he picks up a penny.

"That's a good point," Asa Loud says. "I think I'll name her Asa, too. Asa is a name for both boys and girls. It's a well-thought-out name. Did you know that it was the name of a king? And an actress?"

"No," says X. "No, I most certainly did not."

"Me neither," says Asa Loud.

He glances at the sky again. It's bright and blue, the kind of color that makes you blink twice and glance away before looking at it again for even longer. Asa Loud fancies that kind of color.

* * *

><p>Asa Loud talks for a long time about how nice it would be to have his memories and his name, until X throws his hands into the air and pounds them against the floor. They're sitting down when this happens, but when you're empty and dreaming of being whole again, your surroundings are virtually meaningless. Time, too, loses meaning. This is how both of them have managed to lose track of it.<p>

"I'm tired of listening to your voice," X announces in the silence that follows Asa Loud. "There's a place in Italy, hidden in the Alps. In Monte Cervino. They call it Vendicare, for vengeance—whatever for, nobody knows! But you'll go there if you're desperate enough."

"Oh," Asa Loud says. "Have you been there before?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I was looking for my memories, too." X pauses to laugh at himself. "They didn't give it to me, those Vindice. The place's nothing more than a madman's heaven. But why don't you go on and find out for yourself?" He pats the ground gently, as if stroking a horse. "I'll be here when you come back with a much more sensible goal. We can pursue sensible goals together."

"Hey, I will," Asa Loud says. He is greatly determined. "I think I will go to this place in the mountains, where the Vindice are. And goodbye to you too, you hypocrite."

"Don't 'hey' me," snaps X.

"And thank you," Asa Loud adds.

"Go away," snaps X. "Leave me alone. Alone! By myself! Get out! Can't you see I'm busy?"

Asa Loud leaves. X is indeed a peculiar other-man.

* * *

><p>On the way to the boat, a young man in a crown approaches him. "Hey," says the crowned man.<p>

"Hey," says Asa Loud.

The crowned man grins widely. He seems overly pleased with this arrangement of circumstances. "I've got a few fine knives underneath this coat of mine," he says. "But don't worry, it's not what you think. It just seems to me like you could avoid getting beat up black and blue like that if you had a few tools on hand."

"I don't need any knives," says Asa Loud, "but I have a friend who might."

"Where can I find 'em?"

"I don't know. He might be gone by now."

"Shame, shame. But that's alright." The crowned man gives him a brisk pat on the back. "Peasants like you should take better care of themselves. If you keep those bandages around long enough, people might start mistaking you for some other guys." He whistles. "That wouldn't end too well, would it?"

Asa Loud doesn't understand how he could possibly be mistaken for anybody else. "Are you talking about the Vindice?"

The crowned man laughs. "Well, well! That's not a name you should be throwing around so lightly. Who knew that mere peasants could understand the tongue of nobles?"

"I'm heading there right now," Asa Loud admits.

"To Vendicare?" asks the crowned man.

"To Vendicare," Asa Loud confirms.

"You're no guard," says the crowned man, "yet you're just as beaten-up as they are. How interesting!"

"You're no king," Asa Loud says, "yet you wear a crown. Why is that?"

The crowned man taps his forehead. "I'm a king among the crowds," he declares. "Peasants look at this so that they know when to bow. Unfortunately, not all peasants are smart enough to figure it out."

"If you're a king, where are your guards?" asks Asa Loud.

"A smart king doesn't need many guards. He only needs one, the best guard of them all."

"Where is your best guard?" asks Asa Loud.

"I'm looking for one," says the king among peasants. "That's why I don't have one yet. It takes a long time to find the best guard for the best king, just as I am one of a kind." He waves at Asa Loud. "Be grateful that I spared this much time to talk with you. I've kept my boss for too long. Arrivederci!"

The king among peasants disappears into the streets.

"A real king wouldn't keep any boss at all," Asa Loud calls after him.

* * *

><p>On the boat, Asa Loud meets a brunet with amber eyes, and a baby's pacifier around his neck. "Hello there," says the man.<p>

"Hey," says Asa Loud.

"I'm sorry," says the man. "You look like you needed some company."

"I do?" asks Asa Loud.

The man lets out a happy laugh. "A bit. Where are you headed?"

"Monte Cervino."

"Ah, that's a beautiful mountain. Sight-seeing?"

"Yes."

"You'll enjoy it, then. I'm off to Sicily myself. Got a large family to take care of."

On cue, a slender woman spots them from across the deck. "Dear!" she calls. "Over here!" An infant with silver hair waves at them in her arms, and another with black hair clings to her back. Both of them have pacifier necklaces.

The amber-eyed man laughs and waves back. "Is that your wife?" Asa Loud asks. "And your children?"

"Not my children," he replies. "They're my brothers. But yes, that lady over there is my wife."

"Do you love her?" Asa Loud asks, for he is curious.

The man looks startled, and then happy again—only this is a much gentler sort of happiness. "Yes, I do," he says serenely. "Love is a wonder, isn't it?" His smile turns sad. "I have to go. It was nice meeting you, my friend."

The man jogs to his wife.

"Goodbye," Asa Loud says.

* * *

><p>On a train, Asa Loud meets a blue-eyed man in a suit, who looks like a boy, but really isn't.<p>

"Hello," says he.

"Hey," says Asa Loud.

"You look like someone I've heard of," says the man in the suit. "All bandaged up, like those men up in Vendicare—oh, but you wouldn't know about that. Bad traffic accident?"

"Somewhat," says Asa Loud.

"Where are you headed?"

"Monte Cervino."

"Oh…that's funny. You look like one of the prison guards over there."

"I've heard that before."

"Hm. Coincidences." The man in the suit fiddles with the phone in his pocket.

"Where are you headed?" asks Asa Loud, for he is curious.

"Just…to a graveyard." The man in the suit laughs half-heartedly. "It's the anniversary of my mentor's death. I visit her every year."

"I'm sorry to hear that," says Asa Loud.

"It's fine. She wouldn't want people feeling sorry for her, anyway. She was tough."

"What did she teach you?"

"How to shoot. But also how to stay strong. It's funny—she died several years ago, but I still insist on making trips like this, for sentimental reasons. She'd probably hit me on the head if she were still around right now. Where was I? Have I wandered too far off track? Oh, that's right—she taught me how to handle a gun, and how to become the person I wanted to be. We've come a long way thanks to her."

"She was wise," says Asa Loud.

The man smiles out of gratitude, and then they say goodbye.

That last part might have sounded a bit abrupt. That's alright. Some goodbyes are very sudden.

* * *

><p>Monte Cervino is a dangerous place. The east side looks like a large black wall that's been dusted with snow. It's so thick that even clouds can't pass through it. They settle on hugging the stone surface, so that it looks like the mountain is steaming.<p>

Asa Loud goes to the base of this black wall and spots a figure in the distance. A bandaged man in a dark cloak is sitting on the rocks. "Hey," Asa Loud calls.

But the wind howls too loud for him to hear, so Asa Loud draws closer. He realizes that this other man is actually a woman. "Hey," Asa Loud says.

"Hi," says the woman. Her tongue lolls out of her disfigured mouth. "You must be another one."

"Another one?" repeats Asa Loud.

"Of us," the woman clarifies. "You look like us. You sound like us." She laughs at a joke that is lost to Asa Loud. "You must be here for something special, boy."

"I'm looking for my memories," says Asa Loud.

"Memories! That's fun. We don't have any of those."

"Are you sure? Not even one?"

"Not even one," confirms the woman.

"Where can I find mine, then?" asks Asa Loud.

"You can't," says the woman. "None of us can. You must be looking in the wrong place."

"But I need them. Couldn't you at least give me something? Like a name, or a clue?"

The woman brightens visibly. "A name! Yes, yes, we have many of those. We have all found our own names. There's one among us who can remember them. He remembers the most."

Asa Loud is awestruck. "Do you think he can give me mine?"

The woman looks thoughtful. "He couldn't give a name to the last one who came here. But maybe he'll remember yours."

She leads him into a tunnel of the darkest kind, which leads to a corridor with scratched walls. Many screams and shouts echo throughout the corridors. These screaming citizens of the mountain seem to be in great anguish. Asa Loud decides that this prison is quite vocal about its woes.

In the heart of a prison, there sits a group of mottled men in black hats, and a baby between them. "Oh," says the baby upon seeing Asa Loud.

"Hey," says Asa Loud.

The baby fidgets in place. It looks distressed by his appearance. "You're one of them," it says, before turning to the woman. "I want him out of here. Get him out. I don't like him, don't like him at all."

The woman does not move. "You used to obey me," the baby moans after a while.

"I'm looking for my name," Asa Loud says, "along with my memories. Do you remember me?"

"Remember you? I remember nothing! We're empty, just like you." The baby rocks back and forth. "That's why we sit here. This is our home. Nice, isn't it? Like these walls, this is nice, but we've always, always belonged here. You don't belong here. You should leave."

"But I still need a name," Asa Loud objects.

The baby cackles. "A name? A name, you say? He wants a name! The little boy wants a name, all for himself, his own name—well, then. Well, then! Let me tell you, little boy. How do I give you a name when I can't recognize your face?" It points at Asa Loud. "You can't even call that a face! It's just a little gruesome worm in the ocean of sad things but I'm not sad and this isn't the sea but sometimes—oh, sometimes, I do wish it were. I do wish it were."

To an outsider, these words wouldn't make much sense, and certainly not stringed together like so. But the human mind is a secret place, and Asa Loud knows how impossible it is to express the feeling of emptiness in full.

"I've heard that you can remember things," he says.

"Why, yes I can," the baby replies. "I remember more things than you. For example, I am Bermuda von Veckenschtein." It points to the other men one by one. "This is Jager. This is Jack. This is Big Pino. This is Small Jia. Don't you see? I can go on forever. I remember far more things than you ever will." And the baby puffs up with considerable pride, looking quite satisfied with this display of immeasurable wealth.

"Do you remember how you were born?" Asa Loud asks.

His question seems to anger the baby. "We were born to avenge, of course. You were, too."

Inside, Asa Loud became excited. Never before had he been given a hint about the purpose in living as a corpse. "What are we supposed to avenge?"

"I don't know!" the baby shouts.

Around it, the mottled men rumble and mutter their discontentment. "I don't know what I'm supposed to avenge!" cries the baby, miserable and distressed. "I've forgotten it! Can you imagine? Of all the things to forget—and I'm missing the reason for why we were born! Can you believe it?"

Asa Loud begins to grow frustrated. "You forgot? So you can't tell me anything? Anything at all? You can't give me my memories, or a name, or even a purpose? Why did I come here when nothing will even come from it?"

"You tell me!" The baby waves his arms wildly through the air. "Maybe you wanted to sit with us! This is what we do. We sit here and watch the mountain. We live with the people in the mountain. If you don't want to join us, then leave! Go away!"

"But where do I go from here?" asks Asa Loud angrily.

"Wherever you can go with those bones of yours." Then, the baby pauses, as if an idea has struck. "Although, if you have nothing better to do, you can do me a favor. I've only just remembered it."

"I don't want to do you any favors," Asa Loud snaps.

"There exists a man in this world," the baby says, as if Asa Loud had never spoken at all. "A lone man, all alone, who calls himself Checker-Face. But that is a lie. You should remember that. Everything this man says is a lie. His real name is Kawahira, and his face is not checkered, only pale. He is a coward. You should remember that, too. He will never stop running away from you, not even if you want to apologize. Find him for me, will you?"

"And what should I do, if I find him?" asks Asa Loud. 'If', he says, not 'when'—since he's still rather irritated by this dead-end that faces him.

"I don't know," says the baby, suddenly exhausted. It slumps back against Jager's knee. "I remember looking for him. I don't know why. You'll bring him back here, won't you? Tell him I'd like to see him again. Yes, I'd like that."

The woman escorts Asa Loud out of the hollering tunnel and into the mountain air. "I hope you find this Kawahira man," she says. "I'd like to see him, too."

"Maybe," Asa Loud says.

"I'm sorry Bermuda couldn't remember you," she says.

"That's alright," he says, despite the fact that nobody is truly 'alright' after being confronted by such overwhelming disappointment. People say that they are, though, because they like to think they will be (which is to say, after they've forgotten).

"My name is Marina," says the woman.

"I'm Asa Loud," says Asa Loud.

"My!" she cries. "So you have a name after all!"

"No, no. This isn't my real name. Can't you hear it? The last bit doesn't sound right."

"You don't fancy the 'Loud'? I like it myself." The woman pauses, deep in thought. "What about 'Lay'? Asa Lay?"

"Asa Lay," Asa Loud repeats. "That's very close. But that doesn't sound right either. Thank you for trying, though."

The woman smiles at him. Her eyelids draw tightly over her eyes, and her face softens into snow. But her tongue isn't quick enough to draw back behind her teeth, so it pokes out between her curving lips, tasting the wind. "Goodbye, Asa Loud," she says.

* * *

><p>The ship ride back to Japan is quiet, and stagnant.<p>

A bird lands on the rails of the deck and shakes the salt off its wings. "Hey," Asa Loud says.

It takes off.

"Listen to me," he insists.

* * *

><p>X is no longer sitting at the end of the alley, waiting for Asa Loud to come up with more sensible goals.<p>

* * *

><p>Asa Loud walks through a neighborhood and hears a crash reverberate through one of the houses. In the window, he can see the silhouettes of a man with his arm raised, and a woman covering the side of her face.<p>

He breaks the lock of the window, grabs the man by the collar of his shirt, and throws him out of the house. The man skids across the pavement.

The woman has a round stomach and a bruised eye. She screams at the sight of the man on the sidewalk and slams the window shut, nearly shattering Asa Loud's finger in the princess.

Love is quite the mystery.

* * *

><p>"Hey, old man," drawls the boy, tapping a baseball bat against his neck. "Give up your cash and we'll let you out easy." His friends are grim. They smile their support.<p>

Asa Loud drops the wallet (it was on the ground) into the boy's outstretched hand.

The boy stares down at it, and then at him. He appears to be confused by this new item in his possession.

Children are quite the mystery.

* * *

><p>Asa Loud looks outside the window one day and sees a field of fresh grass. The next time he looks, it is snowing. The next time he looks, he's sitting in the corner of a coffee shop next to the street, so the view can no longer be compared to the ones that precede it.<p>

As many of us know (if we've ever been in a state of mind-numbing disbelief, which most of us have, because we tend to live our entire lives in this shared state of perpetual incredulity), time is relative. An hour for a middle-aged housewife is a year for a preschooler on the swings, or an elderly man relaxing on the porch. Likewise and vice-versa.

* * *

><p>Here is the final truth about human beings. Many people have forgotten it by now. But these truths should not be forgotten, if they are to make the lies apparent.<p>

Human beings are impermanent.

Hence why Asa Loud both _is_ and _is not_ a real human being.

* * *

><p>After only a few days, or perhaps a few minutes, or perhaps a century or two (or perhaps a millenium before today, right now, the present), Asa Loud finds a man named Kawahira inside an old, abandoned store, coated with dust.<p>

"You've finally found me," Kawahira says, which is how Asa Loud remembers some of what Bermuda had told him—that Kawahira will always run away from you. And indeed, his face is pale, not checkered. Asa Loud can't recall what came before that.

"Do you know why I'm here?" asks Asa Loud. "You should know, if you know I've been looking for you."

"I have absolutely no idea," says Kawahira. "I suppose you've had nothing better to do."

"No, no. Bermuda asked for you. He wants to see you again."

"Oh, I'm quite certain he wouldn't."

"He insisted."

Kawahira smiles very slightly. "Bermuda is a very insistent man. But I care little for his whims. What about you, then? What's your story?"

Asa Loud is taken aback. "It's not much."

"We have plenty of time." This is true.

"I'm looking for my memories," says Asa Loud. "I've lost them along the way. I don't remember how."

"That's a shame," Kawahira says. He looks a little tired.

"Thank you," Asa Loud says.

"Have you made any progress with that?"

"No."

"I see. And what was your name again?"

"I don't remember it," admits Asa Loud, "but I made up my own. It's Asa Loud."

Kawahira goes still. "Asa Loud," he repeats. "Where did you get that one from?"

"Asa is a good name. It's the name of a king and an actor. Both boys and girls can use it. The last part isn't quite right, though. 'Loud'. But I like how it starts with an 'L'."

Kawahira looks incredibly weary.

"I've tried Asa Lay, but that doesn't work well, either," Asa Loud adds.

"I see," Kawahira says. "You, Asa Loud, are not looking for a name. Nor are you looking for a memory." He smiles. "But I am a generous man. So I will give you the latter, and with the latter you may realize the former. Because, you see…_I_ am the one who took all your memories away."

Asa Loud's world stutters. He takes a step back. "You did?"

"Yes, and I will be the one to return them."

"You will?"

"I tell no lies," says Kawahira. "And when I'm done with you, I will visit Bermuda and give his memories back to him, and to his dearest companions."

"Bermuda said our memories couldn't be returned," argues Asa Loud, who still feels like he is dreaming.

"How silly. It's an easy procedure, to put your troubles to rest. As easy as snuffing out a flame." Kawahira laughs, but it is full of despair. "First, you must do me a favor."

"Another favor?" asks Asa Loud—although this time, he can hardly mind. Here he is, at the brink of apotheosis. Weeks turn to minutes. Hours to seconds. Decades to days.

"Go to the Vongola Famiglia's cemetery, not far from here," says Kawahira. "There is a white grave next to a single maple tree. Read its name and please, return to me. Please tell me what you feel."

"What does it matter what I feel?" asks Asa Loud.

Kawahira smiles again, although no smile looks nearly as pure as the one on Marina's face, back in the mountains. "Because, Colonnello," he says, "Asa is a name for both girls and boys, and Loud starts simply with an 'L'."

* * *

><p>And here is a secret truth about human beings, which nobody learns until they are old, and no longer look at life in quite the same way as they had many years before.<p>

When the young are asked who they are, they will answer with their accomplishments. "I am a university professor," they will say. "I have three kids and a house in a well-kept neighborhood." Whereas when the old are asked who they are, they will answer with how they feel, and how they have felt, and all that they have learned. "This is how I was," they will say. "This is how I am. These are the people that I knew."

* * *

><p>The sky is bright blue. A bird nestles in the maple tree. The grass sways at his feet.<p>

Colonnello kneels before the white grave and reads the letters engraved. Most are covered by the overgrown flowers, save the name at the top.

"Here lies Lal Mirch," says Colonnello to himself. "Lal. _Lal_. Lal Mirch…"

* * *

><p><strong>.<strong>

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**The end.**


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